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Contrary to the evidence currently stacked against him, Mike does, in fact, possess the ability to look away. He doesn't use it, and he probably won't even try to - but that doesn't change the fact that he could.
That's what he tells himself, at least.
Friends might not lie to each other, but as far as he's concerned, lying to yourself feels like fair game. Mike knows that he does it, at least, and has been doing it ever since he turned fourteen.
He has gotten much better about that, though. The slow process was kickstarted way back, in the moment when El broke up with him for good. It then got further prompted by Jonathan's glares, and finally achieved with the tutelage of Robin.
But still. Cmpared to all the other lies he told himself in the past, this one doesn't seem all that serious. Especially since he knows that it's a lie.
It just helps his dignity not to admit it.
It's a hot day in early August, and the Party has just staged their first successful coup of Steve Harrington's pool.
Although, maybe coup isn't the right word. Steve knows that they're here, for one, and he really doesn't seem to care. But a coup sounds cooler, and so a coup it is.
Dustin stands victorious, his hands on his hips as he overlooks their hangout spot. Steve is off on a road trip with Nancy and Robin - leaving the pool in their sole possession for four whole days. Which is good, because it's been unbearably hot out. Still, Mike isn't sure what they'll do if the other Harringtons decide to drop by. Pretend not to speak English, maybe? Or someone could pretend to drown, and then the others could make a run for it while they're distracted.
But Max would probably volunteer him as the drowning victim, so maybe not.
Lucas places the pizza boxes onto the table between the sunbeds, which have been occupied by Max and El (and the former's ridiculously humongous hat). El turns on the radio, and the host announces that it's "the summer of 1988, baby!" for what must be the thousandth time in the last two months. Just in case they somehow missed it.
Will sits at the edge of the pool, legs in the cool water. Their shoulders are barely touching, but it's still enough to make Mike feel like he's sporting the worst sunburn of his life. And that's saying something, since Mike is really prone to sunburns.
Will is looking at the water, and Mike is looking at Will.
Or staring, really. That definitely feels like the more accurate descriptor of what he has been doing for the past five minutes.
Past five weeks, if he's being honest. He lacks the decency to feel too embarrassed by it.
And he could look away, if he wanted to.
It's just that... he really doesn't want to.
And that's the thing, isn't it? Ever since Mike has been confronted with the truth about himself (and henceforth realised that he does, in fact, enjoy looking at Will), he hasn't once felt the need to stop. Robin says that he's trying to make up for all the lost time, and she generally seems to know what she's talking about. Whatever it is, though, it's hardly his fault that Will is nice to look at.
It's bad. Bad, and probably all too obvious to anyone who knows to search for it. He wouldn't even notice Dustin jumping into the pool (or shouting loudly as he did), if not for the way Will cringes as the water splashes over him. Mike laughs, and Will raises his eyebrow slyly. He kicks his leg so that Mike gets splashed, too.
Dustin dives out, and shakes the water out of his hair.
"Are you guys getting in, or what?"
Mike's head snaps towards him, and out of his daze. Will nods, and begins to remove his shirt. He throws it in the direction of their towels, and Mike's breath disappears along with it.
Now Mike feels like he has to look away, so he does. A little too abruptly, maybe. He really shouldn't be this weird about it. It's just Will.
Then again, maybe that's the problem.
Will has never been just Will to him. Not even back when they were kids. The fact that it's him, rather than some random boy he met over the summer, somehow makes everything both less and more mortifying at the same time.
In any case, he now keeps his eyes pointedly away, and locked firmly with the eyes of Dustin's turtle-shaped pool floatie. He really doesn't want to die of heatstroke. Mostly because dying would suck majorly, but also because that'd just be super embarrassing for him. Something would have to be seriously wrong if he survived all the shit he survived, only to be taken out by the sight of his best friend without a shirt. He knows that. Still, his mouth feels as dry as California summer.
He really needs to get a grip. Or at least some water.
Because he's so busy with actively looking away, it takes Mike a while to notice why everyone is suddenly so deadly quiet. He turns to ask El if she can pass him his water bottle, but she waves him off like there are much more important things to be dealt with. She whispers something to Max, likely to fill her in. Dustin is the first to speak.
"Dude. Your neck."
He's looking at Will as he says it.
Once the words register in his mind, Mike turns his head with a sense of great urgency. Will's hand flies to cover it, but it's no use. Everyone has already seen the red mark, standing just above his collarbone.
Mike nudges him. Will looks at their friends in wide-eyed panic.
"I know," he says. "I - fell."
He cringes immediately, undoubtedly aware of how unconvincing it sounds. Will has always taken the don't lie rule the most seriously, and the distinct lack of practice definitely shows. Dustin lets out a low whistle.
"Must have been one hell of a fall."
Will, for his part, looks like he wishes he really would fall. And then, preferably, not ever get up.
"I don't know why you guys are so surprised," Lucas says, relatively unphased. "Will has always gotten the most girls."
The rest of them consider this for a second. Lucas keeps going.
"I mean, Jennifer Hayes? The girl at the Snow Ball?"
Mike feels a pang of annoyance, rising like the tide. What did those two even know about Will? He didn't even want to dance with that girl. But whatever. Not his circus, not his monkeys. Allegedly. He locks his eyes with the turtle once again.
"June from algebra," Dustin adds, apparently in agreement with the presented thesis.
Will, who had already been looking awkward, frowns.
"What? No," he protests. "She just needed help with her homework."
"Exactly. No offence, man, but you suck at math. Clearly, it was just an excuse to talk to you."
Will can't deny that one. He does suck at math.
"There were girls in California, also."
El offers that piece of information like it's nothing, and Lucas points to her victoriously.
She moves to take another piece of pizza, unbothered, and her tiara slides down her head. Although she still isn’t into DnD, she does enjoy the process of making her own characters. She especially started to enjoy it once she learned that Will used to have a wizard costume, and once he and Joyce helped her make a costume of her own. Even if they rarely wear the full attires anymore, El still occasionally wears her character’s tiara. The unabashed joy over mismatched outfits is one of the many things Mike loves about his friend.
Right now, however, he isn’t feeling much love for her at all.
Girls in California. Mike has spent just about enough time thinking about that. He can still remember the letter El sent two years ago, telling him that Will might have a crush. He also remembers how stupidly, confusingly jealous he felt over that. Will couldn’t even pick up the phone for him (not true, he later learned; the line was just always busy because of Joyce's job), yet could spend hours on a painting for some stupid girl.
That’s mean. She probably wasn’t stupid at all.
Not that she even actually exists, as such.
Maybe Mike is being the stupid one. The whole thing certainly made him feel stupid. Especially since his walls were (and still are) covered in Will’s drawings.
But whatever. The painting wasn't for a girl, anyways - and it now stands proudly framed on the wall of Mike’s bedroom.
Suck it, girls in California.
“Oh,” Dustin chimes in again. “And what about–”
Fucking Christ.
“We get it,” Mike speaks up, for the first time since the conversation started. “Will is irresistible. Can we move on now?”
They all turn to look at him. He very stubbornly refuses to look back.
“Yeah, whatever," Lucas shrugs. "You’re just jealous that you aren’t getting any.”
Mike raises an eyebrow, like he knows something the rest of them don't. Will looks like he wants to drown him. He probably deserves it.
“It’s because of his hair,” Max says.
The sly look falls from Mike’s face in an instant, hand protectively coming up to the nape of his neck. His hair is a little shorter, but the curls are more pronounced- which somehow makes it seem even more unruly than before. Especially in the summer, when he just lets it dry on its own. And no matter what Max might say, he has heard (from his mom, and one other only slightly biased source) that it makes him look very handsome.
But still.
“You don’t even know what my hair looks like!”
Max doesn't argue with that.
“True. But I assume that’s a good thing.”
Mike splutters. Lucas, who has now swam to the edge of the pool, pats his knee comfortingly.
It’s been two years since they defeated Vecna, and one and a half since Max woke up from her coma. Her recovery has made great progress, but it’s still not something that will ever go away entirely. Her sight, for one, is gone completely. Max is learning to live with it, though. Much like everyone else, Mike is glad to hear her laugh again.
Even if it is at his expanse.
“Yeah, yeah,” he says, stretching his hand out towards El once more. “Laugh it up. Can you pass me a slice?”
El uses her powers to push the box towards him.
“Since when do you like pineapple on pizza?” Lucas asks, and the way he wrinkles his nose implies that he hasn’t had any change of heart in that area.
Mike shrugs, grinning around his bite. Both El and Will pull a disgusted face, which only makes him grin harder.
The two of them might not be related, but they act like siblings all the same. Mike wonders if they ever notice how similar they can be. He knows it took him a little off guard, when he first noticed it.
“Try before you deny, my dude.”
Will tries not to laugh, but Mike still notices. He knocks their knees together.
Thankfully, the conversation soon moves on to subjects other than Will’s love life; even if Dustin does try to backtrack a few times.
(“We glossed over that way too quickly," he says. "Who is she? Do we know her? Why won’t you tell us?” “Maybe he’s just being polite because it’s your mom.” “Gross.” “Why would it be gross? Mrs Henderson is–”) (He gets pulled under the water before he can finish that sentence).
Eventually, after an hour of floating around in the pool, and a couple of minutes of drying off in the sun, Will gets up. He pulls his shirt back on, and Mike doesn’t exactly mourn the loss, but he does notice it quite acutely.
“Where are you going?” he asks.
“Just to get more water,” Will says. “I’ll be back in a minute.”
A whole entire minute is, of course, far too long for Mike to wait around. He just barely manages it for about twenty seconds, and then follows inside. Will is standing in the kitchen, his fingers wrapped around a glass of water, and back against the counter. Mike grins, widely and foolishly.
“There he is,” he teases. “The most wanted guy in Hawkins.”
It's horrifyingly lame. Thankfully, Mike has realised that Will, for some reason, actually prefers his dorky quips- as opposed to any (admittedly even more lame) attempts at being suave. As though to confirm this, Will rolls his eyes at him; but still plays along.
“And Lenora, apparently.”
Mike nods his head in agreement. "Right, yeah. How could I forget?”
He leans against the counter as well, but in a way that still allows him to be turned towards Will. Mike takes the half-full glass from the other's hands without a question, and takes a sip. He must be visibly shifty with nervous energy, because Will furrows his eyebrows.
“You aren’t actually jealous, are you?”
Is he? It would make no sense, he knows.
"No," he says. He puts the glass onto the counter, and wipes his sweaty palms against his loose shorts.
Silence.
“I'm not," he insists again, although Will didn't actually say anything to contradict him. "I just don’t want the credit to go to some random girl."
Will smiles at that, a little incredulous.
"The random girl that doesn’t exist?”
Right. Okay. When he says it like that, it does seem ridiculous.
Will sounds like he finds it amusing, thankfully - but also like he still can't quite believe that Mike cares about this stuff. Which is baffling, since Mike feels like he does nothing but care. He shifts his position, so that they're standing in front of each other, knees touching. Mike rests his hands on the counter, bracketing Will inside them.
“Shut up," he grins. "I know it sounds dumb. I can't help it, though."
"It's not dumb," Will assures him, with the easy expertise of someone who has done it a thousand times before. "Besides," he teases. "That's understandable. Apparently, I'm irresistible."
Yeah, Mike wants to agree. I can hardly resist looking at you, sometimes.
But just because friends don’t lie, doesn’t mean that they have to reveal every single embarrassing truth that goes through their minds. No matter how painfully earnest it might be.
“Jerk,” he says instead. “And while I'm being all vulnerable, too."
Will shrugs, like what can you do about it. “You make it way too easy."
There's a playful tilt to his smile, and Mike's eyes are glued to it instantly. He looks around for a second, just to confirm that they're alone. Then, he returns his gaze with renewed interest, and his best now where were we? smile. Which, judging by the look on Will's face, is more silly than it is swoon-worthy. But that's fine, because his face also reveals that there's nothing he, personally, likes more.
“Fine,” he proclaims. “I guess I’ll stop you myself.”
And then, Mike kisses him.
Because that's a thing that they do, nowadays.
Mike knows, in hindsight, that this has been a long time coming. Longer than either of them have been aware of, certainly - but Mike especially. After all, he knew what it was like to hold Will's hand long before he even learned what romance was. And once he did learn, he knew that he shouldn’t want to hold Will's hand as much as he did. At least, not according to most people.
Even after he finally realised what his feelings are, it still took him a year to accept it, and be sure that it's reciprocated. And then came months of lingering looks, and uncertain touches. The all too careful dancing around it, even after they both had an inkling of how the other felt.
This- Mike's hands on the back of Will's neck, and Will's lips against his own- is still so new, compared to all the rest of their lives. And yet, Mike already can’t imagine going back to anything else. Doesn’t want to imagine it.
Of course, dating Will isn’t just about the kissing.
In fact, Mike was almost surprised to find how little things changed between them. If anything, it felt more like going back to the time before all the teenage hormones; when things weren't so awfully complicated, and they still held hands like it was the most natural thing in the world. When Mike could still put his arm around Will’s shoulder, and not overthink himself into an early grave.
The kissing was a change, though. And even if it isn't the only thing that they do, it still is pretty great.
Like… really great.
And Will seems to think so too, if the way he melts into it is anything to go by. He keeps one of his hands on Mike’s chest, holding on to the front of his shirt, and using it to bring him closer.
Mike gleefully complies.
There's something entirely exhilarating about the way in which Will lets himself be kissed - leaning further back against the counter. Mike’s hands cup his face, and he traces his thumb against the edge of Will’s jawline– like he’s the most precious thing that he’ll ever get to hold.
It’s clumsy, and Will's head definitely bumps against the shelves at some point, but it doesn’t really matter. What matters is the faint scent of sunscreen on Will's skin, and the way he can’t help but smile against Mike’s lips. The way Mike can't help but smile back. The fact that they both know how long they've wanted this, and the fact that they've already proven that whatever else might come, relearning each other will always be worth it.
Although, if Mike is being entirely honest, the way Will bites at his lip matters a lot, too.
The kiss deepens a little, one of Mike's hands sneaking up under Will's shirt. He lays it flat against his stomach, enjoying the way his skin is still cold to the touch from all the swimming. Devising a plan to change that. And then-
Someone enters the house.
They separate instantly.
A beat passes, then two, then three, and it eventually becomes clear that no one's actually coming. Someone just had to use the bathroom, probably.
They stay on their separate sides, nonetheless.
If there's one thing that they've learned in their five weeks of dating, it's that getting interrupted sucks. And not because of any of the standards reasons.
Or yes, maybe because of those too. But the real discomfort lies in that brief moment of unadulterated fear, just as it happens. The way it reminds you that according to most people, this isn't something you should be doing. It's such a stark contrast between complete happiness, and sudden, sharp anxiety.
They stand in silence for a little while, trying to catch their breath. Mike reaches for the glass of water again, and Will leans his head back against the shelves.
"That was close," he says.
Mike nods.
"We should get back, probably," Will suggests. "They'll wonder where we went."
Mike nods at this too. But he also wishes - he just wants to-
It can't end on that note. Before Will can push himself away from the counter, Mike surges forward, and presses another quick kiss against his lips. Although caught by surprise, Will complies instantly.
"I love you," he says.
Will smiles like it's the best thing in the world. Mike thinks that maybe, it really is.
And honestly, what's the point of looking away, or holding back? If he only gets to say it when they're alone, then he'll say it is often as he can. He'll say it until he only needs to mouth the words for Will to understand them.
And he'll find a way to say it when they're not alone, too.
Once they get back outside, he switches the radio station to what he knows is Will's favourite, and sings loudly over any voices that dare to complain.
It's a hot day in early August, and Mike's legs are dangling off the edge of Steve Harrington's pool. At the age of seventeen, he's officially tired of lies. He leans fully into Will's side, and the heat between them feels more like a promise.
Max places her humongous hat on his head before she gets into the pool. "To hide your hair," she teases. Lucas unintentionally splashes El as he jumps, and El uses her powers to drench him entirely. They all laugh.
While they're distracted, Will leans over. "I like your hair," he whispers. Mike grins, and doesn't care how wide or foolish it looks.
It's the summer of 1988, baby.
And Mike is finally done with looking away.